


An Unexpected Question

by thanksforthecrumb



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Humor, International Fanworks Day 2016, M/M, Marriage Proposal, its crack nerd humor aka bad humor, literature nerd!murphy, lots of tolkien references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 14:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6012214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanksforthecrumb/pseuds/thanksforthecrumb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murphy has something to ask Bellamy, but of course he won't do it the conventional way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unexpected Question

**Author's Note:**

> happy international fanworks/valentine's day!! prompt: "write about what your faves get fannish over." 
> 
> i'm trash for murphamy and tolkien so here's a gross combination of both!! btw i’ve never written fluffy/domestic murphamy before. i'm sorry if this is horrible.
> 
> shoutout to mary for being awesome. (i might've inadvertently forced you into the role of creative consultant?? oops?)

Bellamy had been living in a tiny, dingy apartment with Murphy (his tiny, dingy boyfriend) for almost two years now, and the space, whose walls sported a few cracks (some old, some new), whose doors squealed at the smallest of movements, whose plumbing was so disastrous it almost made Murphy wish he could believe in God, because there was no way anything less than a miracle could fix it, had started to acquire that distinct, well-worn feeling of home. Maybe neither of them had pictured themselves like this, had never imagined being so _domestic_. But here they were—a grocery list pinned to the fridge by a picture magnet (taken on their third date), a grow-your-own grass plant (whose name, for history’s sake, was Achilles) sitting on the windowsill in a pot Murphy and Bellamy had made together at an honest-to-God pottery barn.

It was six o’clock, and Murphy was waiting by the door to give Bellamy a “welcome home” kiss. Yikes.

Bell stumbled up the steps a few minutes later; Murphy could hear his keys jangling in his pocket as he dug around for them. Murphy was always waiting and ready to open the door for him, but the habit hadn’t died.

He swung the door open and grinned at Bellamy. “Hey, fuckhead,” he said.

Bell smiled back. “You make me dinner?”

“Your favorite,” Murphy replied, always up for the game. Bellamy knew he’d walk into the kitchenette and find a cup of hot instant ramen waiting for him. That was pretty much the extent of Murphy’s culinary skill.

And, sure enough, there it was, steaming as it sat on the table. “What would I do without you,” Bellamy deadpanned.

“Starve,” said Murphy. “Horribly.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. He slung his jacket across the back of the chair and grabbed a fork. Murphy hadn’t moved. Bellamy eyed him. “You want some?” he asked, pointing at the ramen.

Murphy swallowed, and Bellamy thought he suddenly looked edgy. “Already ate,” Murphy answered. He fidgeted, his hands tucked firmly behind his back.

“Murph, are you okay?” Bellamy said, wide-eyed, pausing as he blew on the noodles.

Murphy sucked in a breath. “Yeah. I’m–I’m okay. Okay.”

Bellamy was feeling really strange at this point, and the feeling did nothing but grow as he watched, almost in slow motion, Murphy lower himself to the floor, one knee tucked neatly against the ground.

“Murphy.” Bellamy’s fork lay on the table, forgotten. “What are you—”

It’s important to note that as Murphy got down on one knee, he felt like a complete fucking idiot. Everything was cliché, from the idiot grin on his face to the idiot tears in his eyes to the idiot way his hands trembled around the ring’s box. He pulled it out and brought it before him, crisp metal cool against his fingers.

“I don't really know how this kind of shit is done, and you were always better at the inspirational speeches, so I’ll make this short.” He cleared his throat, nervous. “You’re my Precious, Bell.”

Bellamy’s gaping mouth distorted into a loud, slightly relieved snort, but Murphy decided to take it in stride. He lifted the ring, and that was when Bellamy realized. What he’d thought was a simple gold band was actually a simple gold band— _with weird Elvish writing on it_. The Precious. The fucking—

“Is that the One fucking Ring?” Bellamy said.

Murphy blinked. He looked at the Ring. He looked back up at Bellamy. He blinked again. “Yes,” he said.

“ _Je_ sus Christ.”

“What?”

“You had to—you couldn’t do this the _normal_ way, could you.”

Murphy bristled. “I’m doing this the _better_ way. Which you would understand if you stopped _interrupting_ me.”

Bellamy lifted his hands in surrender, and Murphy’s lips twitched into a smirk, absently running a finger against the Ring.

“You’re my Precious,” he continued, and paused to glare at Bell, daring him to interrupt. Bellamy bit his lip. “And I’d never let you fall into a river or the Crack of Doom or anywhere I can’t be with you. You’re–you’re, like, the Sam to my Frodo. The Merry to my Pippin, the Finwë to my Elwë, the—”

Bellamy half-sighed, half-laughed. “Yeah, yeah, we’re gay for each other. My ramen’s getting cold. You almost done?”

Murphy glared. “Shut up, asshole. I’m trying to proclaim my love for you.” He took a breath. Bellamy wondered if he’d prepared an entire list of _Lord of the Rings_ characters. His stomach rumbled. “You’re the Gimli to my Legolas, the—”

“Wait, wait. How come you get to be Legolas?”

“Because I’m prettier,” said Murphy. “Duh.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes and wondered if kissing your boyfriend to get him to stop talking was a valid thing you could do while being proposed to. Or if maybe he could grab his cup of noodles off the table and start eating.

“You’re the Elrond to my Lind—”

“None of these pairings are even real romantic relationships.”

Murphy glared again. “Fine, shithead. You’re the Celeborn to my Galadriel.”

“Of course _you_ get to be Galadriel.”

“I’m proposing,” he said. “Of course I get to be Galadriel.”

“Jesus, you’re _still_ proposing? When are you gonna shut up so I can say yes?” Bellamy stared down at him, a horrible mixture of irritation and pleasure and (wait for it) love stenciling the lines on his face. Murphy thought maybe the tips of his ears had gone a shade darker, and he smiled.

Really, it was the best answer the two of them could ever hope to get, so Murphy allowed himself one more minute of pretending to be pissed at his boyfriend—fiancé? Weird—before he stood up, slid the Ring onto Bellamy’s finger, and dipped a hand into the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer.

“You know, I love you a lot, asshole,” he said, hissing it against Bellamy’s freckled nose. Bellamy regarded him from amused dark eyes.

“Yeah, well, can’t be more than I do. I suffered through that _entire_ pile of nerdshit for you.”

“Shut up,” said Murphy, and Bellamy could tell that the scowl on his pale lips was warring fiercely with the grin he felt inside. “You liked it.”

“I don’t even know who half the chara—”

Murphy’s eyes gleamed. “I think I know what this means.”

Bellamy groaned, understanding immediately. “No. Please. No. God. What did I do. What did I do to deserve this.”

“Tough fucking nuts,” Murphy said cheerfully, tugging him toward the couch. “You’re the one who decided to marry me.”

“Yeah, is there a warranty on that? Can I take it back?”

“No.”

“Ugh.”

Murphy pushed him backwards onto the sofa, and Bellamy complained as the younger man started humming the Shire theme, stuffing the _Fellowship of the Ring_ ten-year anniversary collector’s deluxe super-extended edition into the DVD player.

“Just be glad I’m not making you read the books,” Murphy said over his shoulder as he turned on the surround sound. “Although that’s gonna change later.”

Bellamy groaned again as Murphy joined him on the couch, looking scarily excited.

“I’ll get the popcorn,” he grumbled, and used the moments turned away from Murphy to hide the hooked smile that had forced his way onto his lips.

* * *

Halfway through _The Two Towers_ (and at approximately midnight; Bellamy loved his life choices), Murphy paused the movie and turned to his fiancé. (…Still weird.)

“We’re naming our first kid Boromir,” he said, more of a declaration than anything.

Bellamy laughed, not all that surprised. “I didn’t even know you wanted kids.”

“I don’t want _kids_ , Bell. I want a kid named _Boromir_. God.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s nonnegotiable, huh.”

Murphy nodded. “It’s a deal breaker.”

“Fine,” Bellamy sighed, “but only if the second one’s named Marsyas.”

Murphy frowned. “Fine. Third one’s—”

“I think ruining the lives of two children is enough, Murph.”

“If we name one Boromir we have to name one Faramir.”

Bellamy chewed at his lip. He blinked several times, not quite sure how he hadn't expected this. Murphy draped a pale arm across Bellamy’s shoulders, apparently claiming the victory. His hand began to play with the dark curls, absently tugging every once in a while. Bellamy sighed. “We’ll flip a coin when the time comes,” he said.

Murphy pouted. “Asshole,” he murmured, burying his head deeper into Bellamy’s chest.

Bellamy watched. “What about Penelope? Or Leto?”

Murphy yawned, unpausing the screen instead of answering. “Not now, Bell,” he shushed, “I’m trying to watch the movie.”

Bellamy let him get away with that and shook his head as he brushed a few stray hairs from Murphy’s eyes. They were going to be here for a _long_ time, but as Murphy settled himself against Bellamy’s side, Bellamy decided he wouldn’t want it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/booksnobmurphy) or [tumblr](http://www.booksnobmurphy.tumblr.com) if u ever want to scream about murphamy and/or tolkien.


End file.
